


93. start from scratch

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [5]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years old catches around Helena’s knucklebones and she stumbles, is there. 1987. Sarah lost in a crowd. Latest foster parent: gone, not here, not anywhere. Helena: right there. Lollipop in her pockets.</p><p>Sarah: wide-eyed. So young. Difficult to not pick up and carry away, tucked in the crook of Helena’s elbow. She knows all of the flavors Sarah likes best, and she could braid her hair. She could raise her in a world without sharp edges.</p><p>But then she’d stop existing, probably. So instead Helena crouches down to Sarah’s level and holds out the lollipop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	93. start from scratch

**Author's Note:**

> [warning: brief allusion to child abuse]

i.

Helena stands outside of the window and watches the babies go into two separate cars. She can see her – their – Amelia, she can see Amelia, watching through the window as the baby-that-is-Helena goes one way and the baby-that-is-Sarah goes another way. An entirely other way, that baby girl.

Amelia stumbles, outside the door. Helena walks up to her. Does not catch her.

“Do you regret it?” she asks her.

*.

She has to pick a baby. She picks Sarah. She winds Sarah’s time around her knuckles like links of a chain and – _pulls_.

ii.

Three years old catches around Helena’s knucklebones and she stumbles, is there. 1987. Sarah lost in a crowd. Latest foster parent: gone, not here, not anywhere. Helena: right there. Lollipop in her pockets.

Sarah: wide-eyed. So young. Difficult to not pick up and carry away, tucked in the crook of Helena’s elbow. She knows all of the flavors Sarah likes best, and she could braid her hair. She could raise her in a world without sharp edges.

But then she’d stop existing, probably. So instead Helena crouches down to Sarah’s level and holds out the lollipop.

“You’re a stranger,” says three-year-old Sarah, but she takes the lollipop anyways – fast, like Helena’s going to take it away. She unwraps it and shoves the whole thing in her mouth.

“Yes,” Helena says. Her heart aches. “Do you want to go find your family now, little _anhel_.”

“It’s _angel_ ,” Sarah says. “With a _gee_.” But when Helena holds out her hand Sarah takes it. They walk back into the crowd.

iii.

Four years old. 1988. Sarah in the deep end of the pool. Latest foster parent: not there. Not a surprise. Everyone else: not looking. Helena: looking as hard as she can. Sarah: drowning.

The water is loud, when she jumps in, but underneath it’s very quiet. She pulls Sarah up to the sun.

Sarah leans on the edge of the pool and coughs, tiny lungs all full of bright blue. “I know you,” she says. “You’re the lady who doesn’t know angels.”

“Yes,” says Helena. “I am that lady.”

Sarah watches her for a moment. “You’re following me,” she says. “You’re one of those bad strangers they tell you about on the telly, the ones with candy and vans.”

“I do not have a van,” Helena says, pulling herself out of the pool and squeezing pool water out of her hair. Around them people are watching, but only because she’s still wearing her shirt and pants and boots. No one is watching Sarah at all.

“Do you have more candy,” Sarah says. Helena rummages through her pockets and finds a waterlogged mini Snickers. She holds it out. Sarah stares at it, and then – with Helena’s help – is out of the pool. She takes the candy. Her feet splash in the water, sending it in glittering arcs.

“My new dad doesn’t care about me,” she says. “I coulda drowned and he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I care,” Helena says. She does.

Sarah looks at her. She doesn’t say anything.

iv.

Four years old—

Helena catches Sarah when she falls out the window. She’s heavy in Helena’s arms, like – something that is heavy. One or both of them says _oof_.

“You can’t fly, little angel,” Helena says, voice horrible with grief and fear. She can feel her heart kicking like a drum. Would Sarah have died? She couldn’t have died, she was right there, Helena’s sister, she didn’t die. But that fall – such a long fall.

“I knew you would catch me,” says Sarah with perfect assurance. She nuzzles Helena’s shoulder, grabs at her shoulderblades with tiny greedy hands. “I figured it out. You’re my guardian angel.”

“Yes,” Helena says simply. She starts walking back towards the house. Sarah clings tighter.

“Don’t go,” she whispers. “My dad doesn’t want me. He’s going to send me away.”

“I have to,” Helena says. “I have to go.”

“Take me with you?” says Sarah. Helena sighs, once, heavy, and puts her down.

v.

Four years old. Helena: unsurprised. Helena: pulling Sarah out of the road. Sarah: crying, angry, holding tight to the straps of her backpack.

“Sarah,” Helena says, voice tired. That stops Sarah short of whatever tantrum she was about to throw; she blinks at Helena, wide-eyed.

“You know my name!” Sarah says. Pauses. “Of course you do. You’re my angel.”

“Yes,” Helena says. Crouches down. “Sarah. I cannot save you every time you are going to be hurt. You have to be safe.”

“Wait,” Sarah says. “You know my name. What’s yours?”

Helena opens her mouth around the soft breath of that _H_ , and then pauses. The chance of Sarah forgetting a strange blonde woman she saw sometimes: good. The chance of her forgetting that woman, if that woman has a name that – well. Not so good.

“You can choose,” Helena says, tucking Sarah’s hair behind her ear. “Your choice, little angel.”

“Mom,” Sarah says, immediately, like she’s been thinking about it. Her chin goes up, jutted-out and stubborn. Helena wants to cry. She does not cry.

“I am not your mother,” she whispers.

“You said I could name you,” Sarah blurts. “I choose that one. That name.”

“Okay, Sarah,” Helena says, and holds her arms open wide so Sarah can fill them.

vi.

Four years old. Four years old. Four years old. Five years old. Five years old. Six years old. Seven years old. Seven years old. Eight—

vii.

“Sarah,” Helena says, snapping Sarah’s broken bone back into place. “I have to go.”

“You always go,” Sarah snaps, growing into her anger like a second skin. She glares. “It’s not _fair_. If you loved me, you’d stay.”

“Sarah,” Helena says again, voice coaxing and patient. Sarah’s mouth snaps shut. Helena looks at her, so small, bruise fading on her cheekbone. Her heart aches. She says it again: “I have to go away now. You don’t need me anymore. I am not coming back.”

“ _What?_ ” Sarah says, and reaches out and grabs fistfuls of Helena’s sleeves. “No, no, mo—I need you, my new foster mum’s scary and she has a _rifle_ and you have to say, you’re my guardian angel, you have to be with me _always_.” By the last word she’s crying; it comes out as a wail. Helena hugs her close and pets her hair.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But you’re safe now. And it is time for me to go.”

Sarah doesn’t say anything, just sniffles and grabs on even tighter. _She’s not going to be alone_ , Helena tells herself fiercely. _She’ll have her family. She won’t be alone._

“Will you ever come back?” Sarah asks faintly.

“Yes,” Helena says. Stupid, but she says it. “Someday. A long long time from now. I will come back for you.”

“You have to promise,” Sarah says.

“I promise,” Helena whispers fiercely. “I will keep you safe.”

“A long long time from now.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t forget,” Sarah says, as if that’s true.

“I know,” Helena says.

Sarah clings tightly. After a moment or two, she lets Helena go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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